Kaha's POV
The light seeps in through the curtains. Pale. Still.
My head's on something warm. Steady.
Chest.
Heartbeat.
Swarna.
I don't move.
Not yet.
His hand is resting on my arm. Loosely.
Like he was afraid I'd vanish if he held tighter.
Kanaka's purring nearby. I think.
Everything's muffled—like the world's wrapped in cotton.
I should move. I know that.
But…
It's been so long since I felt safe.
I forgot what it tasted like.
He shifts a little. I freeze.
Then his voice—soft, barely awake.
"You awake?"
I nod against his shirt.
Then realize he can't see that.
So I whisper, "Mm."
A beat. Two.
"You cried on me," he says, but it's not teasing. Just… stating a fact.
I mumble, "Sorry."
"Don't be," he says. Then adds, quieter, "Kinda proud of myself. I didn't panic or offer you food."
A pause.
"…I did almost get you a warm glass of milk. But that felt like grandma energy."
I let out something between a snort and a breath.
That surprises both of us.
He looks down at me, one eyebrow raised. "Did… did you just laugh?"
I bury my face deeper into his chest. "No."
"Liar."
He's smiling. I can feel it in the way his body shifts.
Silence stretches again.
Comfortable, mostly.
My fingers toy with a loose thread on the blanket.
I don't know what made me cry last night.
Or maybe I do.
Maybe it's the way Kanaka let me hold her.
The way Swarna didn't ask me why.
The way no one told me to "be strong" or "get over it."
Just silence. Warmth.
Presence.
That's new.
"I ran away," I whisper.
His hand stills slightly.
I continue, quieter. "From home. From everything."
Swarna doesn't say anything. Just waits.
"I thought being silent would make it easier."
I tug the thread. "It didn't."
I expect a question.
Or advice.
Or worse—pity.
But all I get is:
"…Hungry?"
I blink.
Then nod. "…Yeah."
He gently shifts me off his lap, like I'm made of glass.
Like he's afraid I'll break again.
Kanaka follows him to the kitchen.
I sit there, curled up, blanket tight around me.
And for the first time…
I think I might stay.